


thread and torn-up strings

by chahakyn



Category: Judy & Punch (2019)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chahakyn/pseuds/chahakyn
Summary: Oh Judy, Derrick thinks in his head, fingers brushing over the dried streaks of red painting the tiles.What have you done?-Derrick holds out hope for Judy, despite it all.
Relationships: Judy/Derrick Fairwatcher
Kudos: 2





	thread and torn-up strings

**Author's Note:**

> me, having to watch this for class: hm i don’t like this movie  
> derrick fairwatcher, staring after judy’s retreating figure in the night with the biggest look of longing on his face  
> me:  
> me: fine. FINE. i’ll write it
> 
> fic title from [ Valentine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9dSwMuM7SOI) by Hope Tala

Derrick watches her pull doves out of thin air, fire dancing out of her fingertips to the delight of the children. It puts a smile on his face and an ache in his heart.

“Best to keep those magic tricks on the lowdown,” he tells her when the children have gone and she’s got the baby bundled to her chest. “The people of Seaside, they…they’re quick to judge. To fear. I’d rather not see you stoned.”

Derrick lets out a nervous laugh before tamping it down internally (Idiot Derrick, you sound like a fool).

“Thank you for the warning, Derrick,” Judy says, quiet and kind as she nods at him. He wants to tug at her sleeve as she leaves, hold her back and make her understand the brevity of what he’s asking of her. Because she doesn’t understand, not really.

Everyone in this town may think him stupid, too weak of mind for the kind of work a constable should do. But he’s sharp and he pays attention, and he’s seen the look in her eyes. She loves performing, lives for every moment of it. Even when she’s hidden under Punch’s name and crude puppet shows, she shines brighter than anything in the room. She’ll sacrifice anything to perform.

And he knows it’s going to be the death of her.

\---

“My dear wife and tiny baby are missing, Constable!”

Derrick freezes behind his desk, blood running cold as he grips the wooden back of his seat.

“Missing?” He says carefully, like he didn’t hear it quite right the first time. “Judy and the baby?”

“Gone. Vanished into thin air. Some act of foul play has befallen, I’m sure.”

There’s something cruel hiding in Punch’s eyes that Derrick doesn’t like one bit. But he steels himself, barely remembering to dress properly (Hat and coat, Derrick, pull yourself _together_ ) before he stumbles after Punch’s brisk, purposeful stride. It’s doesn’t matter what he thinks of Punch or Judy or anything. He has a job to do.

\---

There’s blood on the floor. There’s _blood_ on the floor.

 _Oh Judy_ , Derrick thinks in his head, fingers brushing over the dried streaks of red painting the tiles. _What have you done?_

\---

Derrick feels the paper crumpling between his fingers and forces himself to relax. He gives Mr. Frankly a placid smile, knowing full well that it falls flat.

“Shouldn’t I have been there for the confession? Given that it _is_ my job as constable, I should have thought I’d be asked to attend.”

Mr. Frankly’s ridiculous smile and even more ridiculous excuses set Derrick’s teeth on edge, jaw tense even as he sits down in his chair in the watch house to read this so-called confession.

There’s a sour taste on his tongue when he finishes it, and no amount of water nor liquor can wash it away. Derrick shoves his hands through his hair, the heels of his palms pressing down into his eyes as the confession sits there on his desk, so blatantly a lie that he’d be a fool not to see it.

 _Damn_ them for thinking they can push him around, just because he’s new and inexperienced and trying to do right by the law and justice in this backwards town, too superstitious for its own good.

But it’s his own fault too. Damn him for being so weak, so unwilling to push for what he knows to be right. But his hands are tied, no matter what he thinks of it all. It might as well be him they’re leading to the gallows in a month’s time.

\---

There’s something about the night he shares a drink with Scaramouche, hours before the hanging. The moon is bright, fat and dripping in the sky, and the wind carries something heady in its movements, tasting of fear and sin.

“Someone’s trying to rouse the Devil,” Scaramouche says in a hushed voice as he gazes out the cell window, and while Derrick likes to think himself a reasonable, logical man, he can’t help the shiver of fear that crawls up his spine.

Something tells him to take a stroll when he’s finished his drink with Scaramouche. He’s not one to bend to baseless whims this easily, but he does it anyways. The air is heavy, the night dark, and he’s about to turn on his heel back to the watch house when he sees it. A familiar figure, standing next to a tall, dark horse.

He holds his breath, peering desperately into the dark as he tries to make out the figure’s features. But then he has to step on a twig (stupid Derrick, you absolute _idiot_ ) and the figure mounts the horse and rides away hastily. But the damage is done. It’s Judy he saw, it _has_ to be her. God help him, he prays it’s her, alive and well and aiming to move far, far away from this horrible little town.

\---

He wants so badly for Judy to be safe and far away from Seaside. And yet, Derrick can’t help the pleased smile that curls at his lips as he watches a familiar figure emerge from the forest, atop a tall dark horse. Judy, rising from the grave to exact justice.

He defends her without a second thought when the village men step forward, armed to the teeth. He whips his baton out, jaw tight and grip sure. Derrick believes every word she says of how Punch tried to kill her, and he’ll be damned if stops justice from being dealt by Judy’s righteous hand.

He stands by this even as he watches Judy sever Punch’s hands from his body, his hand clapping to his mouth in shock. His stomach roils with fear, but it doesn’t tamp down the sick pride he feels, watching as Judy stands over Punch, axe in hand and covered in blood. A veritable avenging angel.

He doesn’t know what the town is going to do to her, if they’re going to let her go or try and fight her. All he knows is that he’d defend her to the dying breath, crawling on his hands and knees to reach her through it all. Someone like her deserves no less than that.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [ tumblr](https://shizuoi.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk more!


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